


Finding 'Something'

by CodenameMeretricious



Series: The Floor is Lava [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But John is okay with it, Couch Cuddles, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mycroft has terrible (or terrific?) timing, Sherlock is a conniving prat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameMeretricious/pseuds/CodenameMeretricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected part II and continuation of "Something" that throws all characterization to the wind in favor of ridiculous fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding 'Something'

**Author's Note:**

> Because I hadn't planned on making this piece longer, I'm posting the second half separately to avoid confusion. If you don't read "Something" first you will probably be terribly confused :)

Mycroft walked in thirty seconds later.

John panicked, flinging himself backwards and off Sherlock, scooting as far away as possible. The detective watched him, but stayed where he was, eyes lingering before he adopted a casual demeanor and leaned his head against the arm of the sofa.

“Do come in, Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

John looked up to catch Mycroft’s sneer but quickly ducked his head again, his cheeks no doubt flaming red.

“Amusing,” Mycroft said, his voice bored though John swore he could hear a hint of laughter. CCTV. Of course. Mycroft had probably been watching the whole thing. John sat on his hands so as not to bury his face in them. “A team will be here within twenty minutes.”

A team? They would be rescued, then. Rescued so John could hide in his room and never come out save to find every CCTV camera in their flat and destroy it. Oh God but then he’d have to see Sherlock again. He glanced over before he could stop himself. Sherlock was watching him, clearly tracking his every reaction. Right. Keep it together. No need to hurt the poor bloke’s feelings. Hell, that might have been…no. Calm. He could do calm. He’d been a bloody soldier after all. He took a deep breath and met Sherlock’s gaze with what he hoped was a somewhat level look of his own. Sherlock blinked.

“Dull,” he said, stretching out on the sofa as though this was any other afternoon in their flat and not an afternoon that was giving John a minor panic attack and making him question if he really was sad to have seen Sarah leave after all…

“Really, Sherlock, a touch of chlorine and this place will be sorted. I’m surprised at you,” Mycroft said, looking about the room with disdain. The elder Holmes’ gaze swept back to John and the smirk was back. He didn’t need to be here, he could have easily phoned or simply sent the crew. He was here to _gloat_.

If, one day, the two Holmes brothers mysteriously died, John was not to be held responsible.

Sherlock, however, couldn’t be bothered to respond, instead choosing to make a show of stretching out even more on the sofa, his toes shoving against John’s leg. He was already at the very end of the sofa, tucked into as small a space as possible. There was nowhere he could go, save moving to the back of the couch, but the display of discomfort would only prove what Mycroft seemed quite eager to unravel. Fucking hell, the Holmes family would be the death of him.

Silence followed. John awkwardly trying not to look awkward, Sherlock closing his eyes and wiggling his toes as he settled in, seemingly oblivious, and Mycroft failing to completely hide his interest and amusement. Thankfully, Mycroft’s phone went off and, with one final, faked whiff of disdain, he swept out the door.

John sat still. He couldn’t settle on one emotion at the moment, his mind scrolling between embarrassment, anger, more embarrassment, confusion, uncertainty, and….well, something.

Fuck.

“Chlorine?” he found himself saying.

“Mmm?”

“All it takes is Chlorine?” he said.

“What? Oh.” Sherlock opened his eyes, the blue staring straight through John. “Yes.” The detective stretched again, pushing against John as he did so. Sherlock’s feet were very warm.

John frowned. “You marooned us here on purpose,” he said. Something settled back, allowing anger to cycle forward. Anger and, though he didn’t care to admit it, a bit of amusement.

Sherlock was silent.

John tried to pull his eyes away from the blue stare but found it nearly impossible so he quickly gave up in favor of getting a little bit lost in it. Even though he was back on the opposite side of the couch, those eyes were still vibrant against the pale skin and dark hair. “Sherlock.”

“John.”

He’d done it on purpose. The fucker had made sure they’d be stuck together on the sofa until he decided to fix the rug. John was appalled at the plan, but also somewhat…touched. “You did it on purpose,” he said, his brain replaying their conversation. “You started…” he trailed off as it all settled in his mind. Sherlock had wanted to have that talk, had made sure of it in the only way he knew how because just coming out and asking people was clearly more difficult than pouring chemicals on the floor and engineering a master remake of _Lost_.

Sherlock dropped his eyes, the sudden end to their staring contest nearly shocking John. He’d forgotten he’d been staring at all. That alone should have told him everything he needed to know right there, but he brushed it off when another idea came to him.

“Sherlock…did you…did you want me to kiss you?” Saying it out loud sent another wave of questions tumbling over John but he tried his best to shake it off, watching the way Sherlock’s eyes darted around, feeling in his tense posture just how unsure he was. And unsure was not a word Sherlock comfortably kept in his vocabulary.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock snapped, though he kept his eyes averted and his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He looked almost…guilty.

“I’m not the ridiculous one,” John reminded him. Sherlock threw him a glare and John was about to retaliate, berate the man for such a scheme and ignore the fact that he’d actually, heaven help him, somewhat…well, not completely hated kissing Sherlock. It’s not that he enjoyed it. No. He had been manipulated into it. He should be angry. It was Sherlock. He hadn’t felt anything. Nope. Nothing. Not even a tiny glimmer of that magical Something that sort of made him a bit warm when he looked at Sherlock and had kind of been rearing its ugly head in the past few weeks.

He was totally unaffected.

Angry, actually. As he damn well should be.

“Sherlock, I think we should…”

Sherlock snuck a glance at him.

John mentally groaned. Looked like Something was back on rotation. “Fuck.”

“What?” Sherlock was gaping at him now.

Oh God. “No. That’s not. No. I wasn’t saying that we should—I mean I’m not saying we shouldn—No. I mean I—Dammit. Fuck!” John bit his lip, hard enough to bring his spiraling thoughts back into order. Jesus Christ he was going to give himself an ulcer.

“Eloquently put, John.”

“Shut it, you,” John said, mentally berating himself. He was really, utterly useless today. He closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his right hand and wishing he hadn’t been saved from the flesh eating carpet. Having his feet corroding away would be much more pleasant than this. “Sherlock, I’m going to say this once. It is not okay to spread chemicals on the floor in order to trick your flatmate into being stuck on the sofa with you so you can manipulate them into kissing you.” There; clearly put, acknowledgement of the fact, statement of purpose. Yes, that should do very well. John sighed, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and forget about all of this. Sherlock would sulk, it would be awkward, but they’d get over it and move on.

The chuckle, however, was unexpected.

John dropped his hand and opened his eyes. “Something funny?” He’d meant to discipline Sherlock, chastise him. Now the bastard had the audacity to laugh. “ _What?_ ”

Sherlock was almost shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry, John, it’s just…” he broke off, covering his hand with his mouth, corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Just what? What the bloody hell is so funny?”

“The way you said that. As if it’s a basic rule, applicable to everyone.”

“Well our situation is a bit absurd, I’ll admit, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a conniving prat.” He tried to glare at Sherlock, drive home his point, but the detective had now buried his face into the couch, eyes glassing over as he tried to stifle his laughter. “Would you stop!”

Sherlock snorted. “I’m sorry, John, really, but you’re rather adorable when you’re trying to be angry.”

What? He was a soldier. He was not _adorable_. And since when did Sherlock think anyone was tolerable, much less adorable? “I am not adorable!”

Sherlock was howling now, clutching his sides and nearly crying.

“Stop it! I’m trying to be angry,” John barked, “and you. Are. Laughing.”

The detective was shaking, almost writhing on the couch as he tried to control himself. Despite himself, John felt a smile tug at his mouth. He’d never seen Sherlock this gone over something. Hell, he was lucky to see the detective crack a smile, much less actually crack up.

“All right, you daft git,” John said, shaking his head and suddenly fighting the urge to join in. It really was absurd, this. “Stop it.”

Sherlock just shook his head, trying to roll himself into a sitting position. “Okay, yes, I’m just so cute and cuddly when I’m trying to be angry. It’s hilarious. Come on now,” John said, trying to keep the stern tone in his voice. He was failing spectacularly.

Sherlock barked out another laugh.

Right, now his flatmate had utterly lost it. They were batshit crazy, the both of them, sitting on their perfectly normal couch in their perfectly normal flat save the lethal chemicals on the floor and the manipulative consulting detective and his ‘adorable’ army doctor.

John couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he thought about it, setting Sherlock off again until the two of them were in danger of falling off the couch from laughing so hard. What was his life, really? It seemed pointless to even try and make sense of it all now.

“You,” John huffed out between chuckles, “are something else.”

Sherlock laughed, his breathing evening out as they settled somewhat. John found himself almost on top of Sherlock again, forehead resting against his flatmate’s shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. He heard Sherlock’s laugh rumbling through his chest and tried not to shudder.

“I could say the same of you.”

John looked up, Sherlock’s face serious once more though the remainders of his amusement still danced in the crinkles around his eyes. “Sherlock…” he cut himself off, unsure of what he wanted to say. They grew silent, John sore from laughing and surprisingly content resting against the hard bones and angles of Sherlock.

“I think I’d like to find it,” Sherlock said, looking at John thoughtfully.

“Find what? Chlorine? Good, I need the loo.”

“No,” Sherlock said, a whoosh of air escaping his nose as he smiled. The expression quickly faded though, replaced by a much more considering look, uncertainty flickering around the edges. It was the look he got when he was on the brink of a breakthrough for a case, right on the precipice of an answer and glory or, in his eyes, ultimate failure. “Something.”

This time, John didn’t need to be tricked into it. He pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s, letting himself settle closer around the detective, slipping his hands back into that truly glorious hair and taking full advantage when Sherlock’s lips opened beneath his. He felt Sherlock respond, a large hand wrapping around the back of his neck as another took a somewhat tentative and then firmer hold on his hip. He smiled into the kiss, running his tongue along that ridiculous Cupid’s bow and shifting his hips before his body gave away just how interested he truly was in this whole kissing Sherlock thing. But God, he could get used to this.

He pulled back before getting too lost in the porcelain face and soft lips beneath his. Sherlock looked up at him, the same expression from before returning to his face. The same excitement and uncertainty. Hmm, John thought he’d taken care of that last bit already.

“You want to find something?” he asked quietly, brushing a light kiss against Sherlock’s lips.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.

“I think you already have.”


End file.
